


(Un)stable Condition

by WaitingForMy



Series: A Bored Author Begs for One-Shot Requests [12]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bilingual Spot, Hospitals, I’m so sorry, M/M, Race accidentally calls Spot’s leg a prawn, You made a cute request and I made it angsty, request, they’re married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: Request: Sprace where Spot (being a little reckless and doing something stupid) ends up in hospital for surgery and Race listens to him rambling as he comes round from the anaesthetic?
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: A Bored Author Begs for One-Shot Requests [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704226
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	(Un)stable Condition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/gifts).



> Spot speaks a lot in Spanish, so if you are unfamiliar with the language, I recommend pulling of a translator in another tab!

Race must have checked his phone a hundred times in the last thirty minutes. He reread the messages almost as many times, confirming that he was, in fact, at the right place at the right time, and Spot wasn’t. They were supposed to meet here, at their favorite little mom and pop restaurant on the corner, at six. It was nearly six-thirty, though, and Spot was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. Nothing.

Race swallowed the lump of disappointment in his throat. He’d been looking forward to this all week—a nice dinner and time with his husband. God, the bar was low. In a moment of spite, Race pulled up Spot’s contact and changed it from ‘Baby <3’ to ‘Limbo Champion 2k20’. 

It wasn’t like Spot to blow Race off, except that recently, it was. Spot had gotten cold towards Race, and his fuse had been shorter than ever. Race knew he was stressed; he had just gotten a new boss and had taken on some extra hours at work. For a while, Race let that excuse his behavior, because he loved him. He still loved him more than anything, and that’s what made this so hard. If Spot had given him any reason to stay, any little reason at all, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. Instead, he realized that this was probably it. They had only been married for two years, but they hadn’t acted like husbands for nearly eighteen months, and they weren’t getting better, they were getting worse. They had given it their best shot, and they had failed.

Race went from anxiously awaiting Spot’s arrival to dreading having to see him and the inevitable conversation that would come with it— _Where were you? Why didn’t you show? How could you forget me? How could something that meant the world to me mean so little to you?_

Race nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone started ringing and buzzing in his hands, and he wanted to kick himself for being disappointed when it wasn’t Spot’s name and picture on the screen. It was just a number, probably a telemarketer, but Race answered anyway. He usually wouldn’t, but on the off chance Spot had broken his phone and was calling from somewhere else. Again, he wanted to kick himself for being disappointed when it was a woman, decidedly not Spot, who answered.

“Is this Anthony Higgins-Conlon?”

He sighed, deflating, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Yeah. Who’s calling?”

“I’m calling from New York City Health and Hospitals Kings County. Your husband was brought into our emergency department about half an hour ago.”

Race’s heart leapt into his throat, and he was on his feet before he realized it. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“Your husband is in stable condition. He was in a motor vehicle accident. He’s going to need surgery to repair some of his injuries. Will you be able to come?”

“Yes, I’m on my way.” Race tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder and hailed a cab, though he wondered for a moment if he should stop and throw up first.

“Okay, the doctor will fill you in when you get here,” said the woman on the phone.

“Thank you.” Race hung up as he hopped into the backseat of a cab, shaking. “Kings County Hospital,” he managed to choke out, and they were off.

* * *

Race held Spot’s hand while he waited for him to wake up from surgery. He’d had a few broken bones, but nothing life threatening, thank God. Race should have known he was going to crash that motorcycle, someday. He drove like a maniac. Race had never cared before, but he sure as hell did now.

Spot’s eyebrows creased slightly as he began to stir, and Race sat bolt upright.

“Spotty? Hey, you okay?”

Spot opened his eyes and blinked a few times, squinting at the overhead lights before his gaze settled on Race.

Race sighed with relief and smiled. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hooolaaa,” Spot said in a flirtatious sort of way, a little sing-songy, really stretching out the vowels. “¿Eres médico?”

Race laughed airily. “No, no soy médico.”

Spot hummed and reached out to brush his fingers against Race’s face. “Eres hermosisi... _sí_ simo.” He frowned at the pulse oximeter on his finger and pulled his hand back to look at it closer. “The fuck?” he muttered.

“You’re waking up from surgery, Cariño,” Race explained, taking Spot’s hand and gently guiding it back down to his side. “Just rest, okay?”

“Mmm…” Spot reached up to cup Race’s cheek with his other hand. “Tienes una piel muy bonita.”

“Gracias, my love.” Race took his hand again. “Just rest.”

“Quiero tu piel en mi cara.”

“O—okay.”

“Wooo _ooop_.” Spot reached out and poked Race’s nose. 

Race burst into laughter. He really should have been filming. Spot was never silly like this.

Spot smiled at him. “Mi dios, eres _hermoso_. Are you single?”

“No, and neither are you.” Race held up Spot’s left hand and pointed out his wedding ring.

Spot’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows creased again. “What the fuuuuuck?” He stared at the little band of silver around his finger, the one that meant the world to Race that he kept wearing it. Even at their worst, _he’s still wearing the ring, he still wants to be my husband._

“Who…?” Spot asked dazedly, and Race pointed to himself. Spot’s eyebrows shot up. “¿Estoy casado con _tigo_?”

Race nodded. “Sí, cariño.”

“Wow…” Spot breathed, flopping back against the pillow behind him. “Dios me ama.” He closed his eyes, and Race thought that was the end of it, but a few seconds later, they snapped open again. “Do we have sex?”

Race sputtered, caught off guard. “Yes, we do.”

“Mm.” Spot closed his eyes again, and again, he opened them a few seconds later. “Am I a good husband?”

Race’s grin faltered a little bit. He had been, back in the beginning. Their honeymoon phase was beautiful, but it was brief. Then came the arguments, the short fuse, the silence. It was bad. Race had just been thinking about... _the D word_ …a few hours earlier. He didn’t have the heart to tell Spot that, though—not when he was all high and silly, like a little kid. Race remembered what it was like, before they fell apart. He remembered how happy he had been to wake up next to his best friend every day, to be a family. For a moment, he pretended they were there, again.

“You’re the best husband I could ever ask for,” he told Spot. His throat tightened uncomfortably. He wanted so, so badly to mean it, especially when Spot smiled back at him.

“Bueno,” Spot said, “because you are beautiful, and you deserve it.”

Race physically felt his heart crack in his chest.

_Why can’t he be like this, all the time?_

As Spot turned his head away from Race, his eyes widened, and he emphatically pointed towards the door. “¿¡Que es!?”

“What?” Race frowned towards the door. It was closed, and there wasn’t anything on that wall.

“¡No!” Spot whined, still pointing. “No, _¡eso!_ ”

Race leaned over him, following his point to— “That’s your leg, Spot. Tu—” Shit, what was the word for ‘leg’? Race had picked up a lot of Spanish from being with Spot, but they didn’t go around talking about _legs_. “G—¿gamba? ¡Gamba!” 

Spot looked even more confused than before, and Race realized that _gamba_ was Italian. “Damn it,” he sighed. “Your _leg_ , Spot. They elevate it after surgery.”

“¿Me lo rompí?”

“Sí.”

“Oh.”

There was a knock on the door, and a nurse walked in. “Hi, how are you doing?” 

“Oh, I’m great,” Spot replied airily. “I’m _fantastic_.”

“Are you feeling any pain?”

“Uh-uh.” Spot shook his head.

“Well, good. Can I take a look at this?” She reached for the bandage on his temple, and he jerked his head away.

“Ey, ¡No me toque! ¡‘Stoy casado!”

Race sputtered into laughter, and the nurse looked towards him with her eyebrows slightly raised. “He said, ‘don’t touch me, I’m married’,” Race translated.

“Ah.” The nurse nodded and turned back to Spot. “Don’t worry; I’m married, too. I just want to look at this bump on your head.”

“Oh, okay,” Spot conceded easily.

He quieted down while the nurse checked and changed his bandage. “This is nothing serious,” she explained to Race. “Just a scrape. He had his helmet on.”

“Is it okay if he falls asleep?”

“Oh, yes. He’s not concussed or anything. His legs took the brunt of the crash.”

The nurse finished what she was doing and left. Race gently petted Spot’s hair for a few minutes, until he cracked his eyes open again.

“Racer?”

“Yeah, cariño.”

“‘M sorry I ruined dinner.”

Race let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Meant a lot to me. I know it meant a lot to you, too.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Spot caught his hand. “No, I wanted to talk to you. Had something I was gonna tell you at dinner.”

“Oh?” Race didn’t know whether he liked the sound of that or not.

“Yeah.” Spot ran his thumb over Race’s knuckles—more specifically, over his wedding ring. “I know I haven’t been a good husband, and I want to make it better. I’ll do anything, therapy, whatever you want.”

Race exhaled. “Oh, cariño…”

“I got a new job.”

This announcement took Race by surprise, and it hung in the air for a moment before he responded, “You what?”

“I know I should have talked to you about it,” Spot said, “but it’s better, I promise. It’s a little farther from home, but the pay’s better. I can work fewer hours. I didn’t want to tell you, in case it didn’t work out. You’re the love of my life, Race. I can’t lose you.”

Race leaned down to hug him as best he could, feeling horribly guilty about all those things he’d thought earlier, but mostly so, so relieved. Spot cradled Race’s head against his shoulder and let out a sigh that sounded just as relieved as Race was feeling.

“I love you,” Race said. “For better or worse, you’re mine, and I love you.”

“Love you,” Spot repeated.

* * *

“I said a bunch of weird shit a while ago, didn’t I?”

“You want my skin on your face.”

“Oh, good.”

**Author's Note:**

> In loving memory of me blanking on the word ‘pierna’ while writing this and deciding to make Race blank on it, too.


End file.
